


Somewhere, Somehow

by featherx



Category: Fame: The Musical - Margoshes/Levy/Fernandez
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Carmen told a lie, and one time she didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere, Somehow

**Author's Note:**

> that valentines fic is the last happy schlomo/carmen thing i'll ever write, probably  
> there are some references about Drive Us Mad here, mostly about how schlomo was bullied in kindergarten, but nothing directly connected to it

_We're looking up at the same night sky_

_And keep pretending the sun will not rise_

_Be together for one more night_

_Somewhere, somehow..._

_(Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard)_

 

 

**i.**

“I’m thinking it’s probably better to add some more sugar in that,” Schlomo points out as Serena fumbles with the utensils. “Otherwise it’s going to taste way too terrible for anyone to digest properly. And doesn’t Nick have a sweet tooth?”

Serena sighs and glances at the recipe book again, brows furrowing in frustration. “This was a terrible idea. I should be studying right now…”

“Don’t you mean sleeping? It’s three in the morning,” Schlomo points out weakly.

Serena gives him a strange look. “Sleep? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She goes back to mixing the ingredients without as much as a giggle. Schlomo decides he’d rather not get in the way of the girl and looks down at the coffee he’s drinking. It’s lukewarm, and he hurries to finish it lest it get any colder.

Luckily enough, he’s only raised the cup a few inches up to his mouth before the kitchen doors slam open, so he only spills half of its contents all over his brand new shirt. It would be a bit of a mess if he had choked on the liquid. Serena lets out a quiet squeal, before calming instantly. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me, huh,” Carmen huffs, crossing her arms as she heads to the coffee machine. Schlomo immediately shrinks away. “What’re you doing in here, ‘Reena? And cooking at that, whew.”

“It’s Nick’s birthday tomorrow,” Serena says, sniffling slightly as she wipes some flour off her nose. “I’m making him a cake. Just a small one, you know. Not big enough to be a cake, not small enough to be a cupcake, but it’s a whole lot more work than I’d expected… and also, do you think he’d prefer blue frosting or red frosting? Not that I’ve actually reached that part yet, but—”

“Are you okay?” Carmen asks nonchalantly, casting a curious glance Schlomo’s way. “The coffee machine doesn’t bite, and neither do I.”

He looks away before the words leave her mouth. “Just fine. Uh, sorry.” He moves to the side from the coffee machine, frantically wiping at the growing stain on his shirt. At least it’s not searing hot, which would have been a lot more disastrous.

(There’s something about Carmen Diaz he can’t quite put a finger on. She bounces around with a smile on her face but for some reason, Schlomo sees a sneer and the capability of destruction in her hands.

Is it the cautionary instinct engrained within him, developed from years of being bullied in kindergarten? Is it paranoia that makes him see the lethality in her gaze?

He doesn’t know.)

Carmen looks at him for another moment, before turning her attention to her coffee. Schlomo bites back a sigh of relief and makes to inch his way out the door when Carmen speaks up again. “You don’t like me all that much, do you?”

“… Er?”

Serena discreetly peers up from behind her cookbook.

Carmen is leaning against the counter, nursing her cup of coffee with a careless hand, looking like the cup can fall from her grip at any second. Schlomo’s first thought is to step away from her even more, and his second thought is to hope she doesn’t get hurt. “You’re trying to avoid me,” she says plainly.

“I’m not—” He stops. She’s right—he’d been planning an escape route since she’d stepped through the doors. “I don’t hate you,” Schlomo says instead, voice growing softer and softer.

There’s an awkward silence. Then Carmen shrugs and takes a sip of steaming coffee before replying. “It wouldn’t matter that much to me if you do. But if ‘Reena needs your help, don’t let me bother you.” She turns away and brings out her phone, and the conversation, if it can be called one, ends effectively.

Serena gives Schlomo a slightly panicked look. Schlomo returns it with a worried one. After a few seconds, Serena asks, “S… Schlomo, um, I put the cream in here, right?”

Schlomo spends the remainder of the morning trying to salvage the mass of flour and chocolate Serena had created with nothing but a barely-working electric mixer. He doesn’t see it, but he can feel Carmen’s curious gaze fixed on his back every step of the way.

* * *

**ii.**

 “ _I’m gonna live forever_ ,” she hums, tapping her fingers along to the beat. “ _I’m gonna learn how to fly, high!_ ”

Schlomo is really not sure how to feel about this. First of all, he’d picked the most inconspicuous, most innocuous room that had been available for their band rehearsals, so it was highly unlikely that anyone would be able to find the room just like that. Second of all, _Carmen Diaz has no reason to be here_. He doesn’t even mean that in an angry way—he’s more in shock than anything.

“ _People will see me and cry_ —oh.” Carmen pauses. Their eyes meet in a staring match that lasts for all of two seconds—Schlomo looks away without even thinking about it, eyes darting to look at the floor, instincts screaming at him to run and not to look back. “Hello there. Is this the rehearsal room for that new band you made with King and Lamb?”

“I… yeah,” Schlomo manages, shifting uncomfortably. “Er… is there a reason you’re here?”

When Carmen doesn’t respond, he looks back up, terrified if he had sounded rude to the other girl. But Carmen’s expression is anything but offended—she’s staring at him in some kind of curiosity that promises more pain than anything. Maybe it’s the built-in instincts within him, but Schlomo knows these kinds of looks. This is a new one.

After a while, Carmen finally shakes her head, and it takes Schlomo a moment to remember that he had asked a question. “I was gonna stay here so Ms. Sherman wouldn’t find me next period,” she says, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her skirt, “but since you’re here—”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Schlomo says, more out of habit than anything. Then he realizes exactly what he had just said, and almost flips out because _what is he saying?_ Being in the same room as Carmen Diaz—the thought alone is terrifying, and not just because she reminds him a little of a snake getting ready to sink its fangs into its victim. But it’s either he keep up his paper-thin façade of politeness or—

“Your songs,” Carmen suddenly says, enough for Schlomo to nearly jump a foot in the air. Thankfully, he keeps himself safe on the ground—what is up with him? It’s not like he’s _crushing_ on the other girl, is he? “I’ve heard them before. They’re pretty nice.”

“O-Oh.” A pause. He forces the blood down from his cheeks, but they still feel a tad warmer than they should be. “Thanks. Um, wanna listen? Goody and Lambchops won’t be here for another few minutes.”

Carmen grins. “Well, since you asked so nicely. Anyway, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

* * *

**iii.**

“What? What? You gonna try to beat me up now? I never knew you sunk low enough to hit a lady,” Carmen sneers, pushing her face towards the taller boy’s until they’re nearly nose-to-nose. Her eyes glimmer with something between sadism and the wonder of how blood would look on the hallway walls.

“You little bitch,” the senior snarls, fingers curling to clench into a fist.

Carmen already has her arms up to defend herself when someone suddenly snaps, “ _Hey!_ ”

The senior growls and turns around to look behind him—there’s another girl there, not one from Carmen’s class, so probably the senior’s friend. “What are you _doing?_ I’ve been looking for you for hours—the principal wants to talk to you. Move it!” Without sparing a glance in Carmen’s direction, the girl grabs the senior’s wrist and drags him towards the end of the hallway, turning a corner and vanishing from sight.

There’s a lull in her thoughts, before Carmen heaves a disappointed sigh. Footsteps approach from behind her, and she whirls around, wondering if that had been some sort of distraction to lower her guard, and swings her fist—it connects, mostly against the wall. “Oh, _ow_ ,” she mutters, wincing. That’s going to form a bruise.

“Carmen!” Schlomo gawks, sounding scandalized, like he had just caught her posing for a porn video. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you? And is your hand alright?” Before she knows it, warm fingers are wrapped around her own, and the boy is looking over her knuckles like he’s some sort of doctor.

“Schlomo?” she says blankly, trying to pretend his touch doesn’t make her heart rocket up to her throat. “What are you—did you _do that?_ ”

Schlomo bites his lip nervously—such a cute little habit, Carmen thinks idly—before nodding. “I’m friends with that senior girl, but anyway, that’s not important. You shouldn’t just rush into fights like that! What if you get hurt or—”

“Oh, Schlomo, _do_ I hate you,” Carmen sighs, slinging an arm around his shoulders and hoping that she’s not leaning on him too much. Showing just how tired she already is would be quite frankly terrible because then she’d never hear the end of it from her boyfriend. “I was _itching_ for a fight, and when that senior comes strutting up to me _asking_ for one, then I’m not going to say no to him, am I?”

Schlomo sighs. “Carmen,” he starts, “if you’re tired, don’t hide it.”

There’s a pause. Then Carmen laughs softly and cranes her neck slightly to kiss his cheek, giving herself a mental pat on the back when he blushes immediately. “Aren’t you sweet?”

“Gee, thanks,” Schlomo mumbles, gaze fixated somewhere on the floor. Carmen vaguely wonders why he never looks anyone in the eye except for Lambchops. “Well,” he says, after a moment, bringing his eyes to look at her face, seemingly with great effort, “I do my best for you.”

Carmen thinks she feels her heart flutter, but maybe it just crashed. Fluttering is too much of a damsel in distress for her—and heaven knows she wears the pants in this relationship. She kisses him some more, and she can tell he has no idea what he’s doing, but going along with it anyway—maybe that’s what matters.

* * *

**iv.**

“Okay, _fine_ , if the only movie you’ll ever watch is one with Nick Piazza in it—”

“ _Mabel!_ ” Serena wails, burying her face in her hands.

“—then will I finally be able to get you out of the house with a special sale?” Mabel thinks about it for a moment, then nods approvingly. “Yes. Absolutely. You can’t miss the summer sale, ‘Reena, the last time I went there I pretty much handed over my entire bank account to five stores. And you’ll look great in those summer dresses!”

Serena peeks out from between her fingers. “Dresses?” she repeats meekly. “The _last_ time I wore a dress, Nick couldn’t look me in the eye for a week.”

“Probably not for the reasons you’re thinking,” Mabel mutters, rolling her eyes. Serena sputters out half-finished sentences, mostly consisting of ‘what’, ‘why’, and ‘ _huh_ ’, but Mabel interrupts her before she can complete any of them. “Anyway! Summer sale. You, me, Carmen. It’s final!”

Carmen lifts her head from her arms, blinking blearily. “Sorry, what?”

“Great, I bet you stayed up until two last night, didn’t you,” Mabel says, sighing. It isn’t a question. “I said, we’re going on a date! ‘Reena needs a social life, and there’s a summer sale, perfect timing. And she trusts your judgment of clothes more than she trusts me, so you have to go.”

“Oh.” Carmen reviews the words over in her head for a moment, not completely comprehending them until at least two seconds later. “When? Tonight? I’ve got plans.”

She realizes the words ‘I’ve got plans’ may be the signal for the devil to rise, because Mabel immediately gives her a wide-eyed look and Serena breaks into a schoolgirl smile. “Oh my _gosh_ ,” Serena squeaks, “you have a _date?_ An _actual_ one?”

“I’ve gone on dates before,” Carmen says in befuddlement.

“I remember exactly two dates, one where you kicked the guy in the nuts and one where you asked Nick out so you can do your spy duty.” Mabel squints at her, looking like a very suspicious chipmunk as she stuffs an apple slice in her mouth. “And I’m not even sure if those were two separate dates or if they were one and the same. Is this—no, of _course_ it’s with Schlomo.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asks, still not quite awake. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. We’re just gonna hang out a while, y’know.”

“The last time you said you were gonna hang out with someone, you didn’t come to school the next day because you were too hungover to get up,” Serena points out. She has a point, annoyingly enough.

Carmen shrugs. “Well, I’ll still be there, technically. Just send me pics and I’ll see if they’re any good.”

“You _better_ reply to my texts this time,” Mabel says, crossing her arms. “You completely ignore me every time Schlomo happens to be in the _same room_ as you.”

“Oh, Mabel,” Carmen scoffs, waving a hand in the air, “of _course_ I’ll reply to you. When have I not?”

Three hours later, Carmen hasn’t opened a single message Mabel had sent. Serena, with about three new pounds of clothing, giggles girlishly while Mabel sighs and decides Goody has okay fashion taste for this occasion.

* * *

**v.**

“Mmrrrffh,” Carmen mutters. Schlomo wonders if it’s some kind of new language she’s been studying recently, because she’s only been talking like that for the past ten minutes all the way from the car ride home to her house.

Schlomo checks to make sure her door is locked before gently leading her up the stairs to her bedroom. “Steady, Car,” he says, stifling a yawn. It’s probably past twelve midnight by now, and he got up way too early this morning—he hadn’t been expecting Carmen to get totally and absolutely wasted in the bar. “Oh, come on, you’ve gone up these stairs a million times before—”

“Sccch _lo_ mo,” she replies.

“Yes, that’s me.” He lets her rest against him for a second, her body emanating warmth—it’s all too comfortable, especially when they had just come outside from the cold evening air. “Carmen? You’re drunk, just sleep it off, will you?”

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” she sighs, which is a little surprising, because she hasn’t said anything halfway coherent until now. “I’m just a little—” she breathes in, deep and slow, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “I’m just a little in love, I guess,” she whispers, eyes closed.

“… Carmen,” Schlomo says, but she’s kissing him again, her canines grazing his lower lip almost hungrily, tongue swiping over his own teeth. Schlomo attempts some form of speech, figures it’s probably not worth it, and lets his fingers trace patterns in between her shoulder blades. Carmen shudders, and her hands hold onto his arms hard enough to bruise.

In the end, Schlomo learns many new things about Carmen, mostly that she’s a lot noisier when she’s horribly drunk and doesn’t care. She probably wakes up half the neighbors, but the curtains are drawn and the door is locked, so that’s what matters.

* * *

**vi.**

“You know I’ll never leave you, right?” Carmen says, voice soft, eyes almost blindingly bright against the darkness of her room.

Schlomo sighs and runs a hand through her hair lazily as she curls up to rest her head against his chest. “If you do,” he starts, and never finishes, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if she did leave him. It’d be like taking away the sun, and trapping the world in an eternal blanket of darkness.

“If I do?” Carmen prods.

“If you do—” He tries putting serious effort in thinking about it, before giving up. “If you do, I’ll wait for you, I guess,” he says.

Carmen doesn’t say anything. When Schlomo glances down, her eyes are closed, her breathing deep and even. Schlomo makes sure her arm isn’t pinned under his so she doesn’t wake up with pins and needles tomorrow, and draws the covers over them both.


End file.
